


I Fucked Your Mom — Reddie Week 2020

by weavability



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Bad Days, Best Friends, Best Friends to Lovers, Betrayal, Bisexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Coffee, College, College Students Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Comfort, Cute, Deadlights (IT), Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fanfiction, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Disaster Richie Tozier, Gay Richie Tozier, High School, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Peace, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prom, Reconciliation, Reddie, Reddie Week 2020, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier in the Deadlights, Sad, Sad Gay Richie Tozier, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Starbucks, Stenbrough, The Kissing Bridge (IT), The Quarry (IT), Whump, benverly - Freeform, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26240449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weavability/pseuds/weavability
Summary: Hey all! This is a collection of short (VERY short, short-enough-to-fit-in-ten-slides-on-Instagram short) one shots for Reddie Week 2020! I joined the collection late because I wasn’t aware there was one on AO3 until day three, so you’ll have to excuse me for that. Thank you to the wonderful @dibojosdelrio and @lisbetuuu for the prompts and for organizing the collection! You can also find these one shots on Instagram on my account, @rinsreddie . Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out my other (much longer, I promise) Reddie fic here on AO3. Much love!
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 11
Kudos: 39
Collections: Reddie Week 2020





	1. ONE — The Kissing Bridge / The Quarry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie goes to take care of some very important business, but someone else is already in his spot.

Richie shoved his hands further down into his pockets as he walked, the evening breeze blowing his hair across his face. He’d long since given up trying to get his curly bangs out of his eyes. Besides, he was alone anyway. It could’ve been a bad idea to go out alone at dusk, thanks to the constantly looming threat that was Henry Bowers, but Richie could care less. It was a wild, spontaneous kind of night; he couldn’t be bothered to ruin his adventure by being paranoid. 

The outing hadn’t been unprompted; his parents had a tendency to sound so unenthusiastic about his wishes that he needed a morale booster every once in awhile. It wasn’t like they were  _bad parents_.  Wentworth tried to support Richie and all his stupid impressions and his goals for the future. Maggie loved him and tried her best to show it. It just didn’t always come through clear. He wasn’t the child the Toziers had been expecting. 

So here he was, traipsing down the street at half past nine. His destination? The Kissing Bridge. His plan was to visit the initials he’d carved months ago. Sometimes it made him feel better to sit there and think about Eddie, and his cold hands, feisty complaints, and soft eyes, so that was the goal for tonight. 

Except it was all foiled when he took two steps into the clearing that he was supposed to turn onto the bridge from and Eddie was  _already there_. Richie froze like a deer in headlights, already too far out into the street to run back without being caught. 

Eddie was crouching, and he held a pocket knife of his own, digging something into the wood barrier. Richie must have stepped on a stick or something, because Eddie’s shoulders came up. His head swiveled around and they locked eyes. Richie’s heart dropped into the soles of his shoes. If Eddie was here carving someone’s initials into that bridge... Well, Richie was either about to have the best or worst night of his life. 

He took a deep breath.  _ Put on your happy face, Tozier.  _ “What’s up, Spaghetti Head?” he called happily. “Busy carving my mom’s initials into the Kissing Bridge?” He laughed, trying to make it sound natural, but it came out choppy and jittery. 

Eddie took a few careful steps toward Richie, but the curly-haired boy shook his head and advanced before Eddie could convince him to turn back. “Richie, wait,” were his first words to him of the night. Richie wasn’t, in fact, waiting. He pushed past Eddie, their shoulders bumping. 

“What’s wrong, short stack? You embarrassed?” Richie teased. 

“Richie, no,” Eddie begged, his face turning pink. “Stop it. It’s supposed to be a secret, I came alone for a reason—” Richie reached forward to pinch his cheek. 

“You’re such a cutie. Don’t feel bad for loving my mom,” he joked cheekily. 

Eddie tried grabbing onto his wrist, but Richie was stronger. He wrenched free of Eddie’s grip. “Relax, Eds, I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, once I figure out who the lovely lady is—” he nearly tripped over his words— “I can set you up with her. I have genius relationship skills, in case you didn’t know.”

“Richie, it’s not— Richie, stop—”

“Sorry, Eddie, my love. This has to be done.” Richie grinned, pushing past him to crouch down and inspect the board. He’d studied it long enough to know when a new carving was put in it. 

“Richie, please!” Eddie begged, but it was too late. “It’s not just some girl, it’s—”

What Richie saw made his stomach drop as if he was on a roller coaster. The newest, freshest carving, the one Eddie had been working on just seconds ago, the project Richie had interrupted him in— an R with an unfinished heart around it. 

Richie stared for a few seconds, swallowing hard.  _ Is this really happening?  _ He racked his brain, trying to think of  _girls_ Eddie might know whose names started with R. He came up with nothing. Slowly, his eyes moved up, finding Eddie’s. Begging him for confirmation.  _ Please, please, just let it be true. _

Eddie licked his lips, taking a shaky breath. “I was gonna say that it’s— it’s not a girl,” he squeaked out with monumental effort. “It’s, um. It’s.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Richie said nothing, opting to let him do it by himself. When seconds passed and Eddie didn’t finish, Richie finally opened his mouth. They spoke at the same time. 

“Take your time—”

“It’s you—”

Richie may have been talking during the confession, but hearing the words still made his stomach roll with thousands of butterflies. His jaw dropped, and Eddie seemed to panic. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,  _please_ ,  Richie, please, I—” He choked on a sob, tears threatening to roll down his face. “It’s— I— I can’t control it, I can’t help it! I know, I  _ know _ , it’s  _ weird _ , but I just—  _ please _ , Rich, you can’t tell Mom, she— she’ll throw me out, I...” Eddie trailed off. Richie’s heart broke listening to Eddie say out loud the things  _ he’d _ been thinking his whole life. He would never wish that self loathing on Eddie, and now that he knew the other boy had to go through it, too, he was more inclined to admit his own feelings. 

_Jesus Christ, Tozier. What are you doing? Get up and help him_.  So Richie listened to his thoughts and instincts, getting to his feet. He came forward quickly, reaching up to dry Eddie’s tears even though he felt like crying himself. “Eddie. Eds, hey. It’s— it’s fine, it’s okay. I—” He inhaled slowly, staring into Eddie’s soft, scared eyes. He was sure his own eyes mirrored that fear, because the next words that came out of his mouth were the ones he’d been waiting years to say. “I, ah. I... I like you, too.” 

The universe didn’t stop like he had thought it would. 


	2. TWO — Confession / First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie’s first date!

“You have ice cream on your nose.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he reached up, swiping his hand across his nose and looking at it to make sure nothing was there. He couldn’t ruin this night. If he was a klutz and fucked something up on their  _ first date _ , he’d never forgive himself. “Richie, you’re a liar and a cheat,” he grumbled, dropping his hand and taking another bite of his ice cream cone instead. 

“It’s your punishment for  _ biting _ ice cream. Who  does that, you weirdo?” Richie laughed, his tongue flattening out the top of his own ice cream. He was more careful now than he had always been when they were younger. Not that seventeen  _wasn’t_ young; it was just striking how much Richie had changed over the years. Of course, fighting a monster clown in the sewers would do that to you. But there were other things, too. 

Shiny black rings were scattered across his fingers. There was a slit in his left eyebrow. The Hawaiian print shirts and khakis had long since been abandoned for dark ripped jeans and band t-shirts. A black lip ring to match it all had been the most recent addition. One of the only things that had accompanied Richie on his fashion journey was his love for Converse shoes. The other thing was his sparky personality. An outsider would look at Richie and call this an emo phase; Eddie always just called it a growth in style. After all, how could Richie be gothic if he still made mom jokes?

“I do. It’s the most sensible way to eat ice cream,” Eddie insisted with a glare. He reached over to nudge Richie in the shoulder. 

“Sure, Spagheds, you keep on believing that,” Richie teased smugly.

“That’s the stupidest nickname ever.”

“It’s cute. You love it.” Richie wasn’t wrong, but Eddie was not losing this debate. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side, not making fun of me,” he huffed. In reality, he didn’t mind. This was how it always been. The only difference between a date and just hanging out like always was that they got to hold hands and there were butterflies in his stomach. 

“That’s not how a relationship works, Eduardo,” Richie scoffed. Eddie may have been confused, but at the word  relationship, his cheeks heated. Technically, they weren’t  _ dating _ dating. They were just seeing if this was right (it was, it had to be). But Eddie wanted so badly to call Richie his boyfriend that he often caught himself slipping up in his own head when referring to the boy. As embarrassing as it was, he was just glad it never happened out loud.

“What d’you mean?” Eddie asked quietly. “We aren’t supposed to, like,  _ fight _ , though. Right?”

“Eddie, have you ever talked to me once in your life?” Richie laughed. 

“Yeah?”

“News flash: we fight  _all the time._ ”

Eddie felt dread squeeze in his heart. “Does that mean, um—” Fear crept up his throat, and he felt silent. He couldn’t ask what he wanted to.  _ Are we only allowed to date if we  _ don’t _ fight?  _ “Does that mean we can’t...” He didn’t know how to phrase the question, awkwardly dancing around it. The other boy got the hint anyway. 

“NO, Eddie, no,” said Richie quickly, nearly dropping his ice cream. “Jesus, Eds, don’t say stuff like that.”

Eddie shrugged loosely. “Sorry. I just thought... well, I mean, my parents never fought. They just... agreed. About everything.”

“Are you crazy? I don’t just automatically agree with everything you do,” Richie replied with a lopsided grin. He knew Richie meant it in a lighthearted way, but Eddie couldn’t help taking the sentence and analyzing it. 

His brow cinched tightly together. He hadn’t seen much of the relationship his mother and father had had— Frank Kaspbrak had died when Eddie was only five years old— but he knew it was similar to that: never fighting, always seeing eye to eye. He had very little memory of arguing ever going on in the house. Frank had always resigned and agreed with Sonia no matter what it was.  _Is that not just how it is?_

Eddie decided not to meet Richie’s eyes, feeling like he’d fucked up the date already. He kept going on his chocolate ice cream, eyes lifting up and out toward the darkening sky. He was more than a little nervous, but he knew nobody would find them out here at the quarry. Jealousy always blossomed in his chest when he thought about Ben and Beverly and how it didn’t matter if  _ they _ went out holding hands and giggling and kissing each other’s cheeks. But the second Richie and Eddie stepped outside with their fingers interlocked, someone (probably Henry Bowers) would chase them down with a pocket knife and threaten their lives. 

Eddie took a breath.  _ It’s not Bev and Ben’s fault, _ he reminded himself, and instead of letting himself dwell on the bitter thoughts, he gave in to temptation and looked at Richie again, who was now staring up at the rising moon like Eddie had been a few seconds prior. Eddie traced the side of Richie’s jaw with his eyes.  _ God, I’m so lucky to have you _ . It didn’t matter that all their dates had to be behind closed doors or that the only time they could hold hands was under tables. As long as Richie was here and alive for him. 

Richie caught him staring, and Eddie quickly averted his eyes, going red. “S-Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Spaghetti Head.” Eddie groaned at the incessant nickname. “I know you can’t help staring at my beauty.” Richie winked, ever the tease, and a smile tugged at the corners of Eddie’s lips. The curly-haired boy carefully slid his hand over a little closer on the ground. Eddie sucked in a breath, his own hand creeping a few centimeters closer as well. They were locking pinkies, and then Eddie blinked, and Richie had his whole hand, lacing their fingers together. The rings were a stark contrast to Richie’s warm skin, but Eddie’s hands were always cold, so it didn’t bother him. Richie’s soft voice broke the silence again. “I know we can make this thing work, Eddie,” he murmured. 

“What thing?” he asked, his voice painfully high-pitched, even though he already knew. Eddie avoided looking at Richie.  _Not yet_. Out of his peripheral vision, he couldn’t help but notice that Richie’s ice cream cone was gone. Feeling foolish, Eddie quickly scarfed the last bite of his up, chomping it down while Richie continued. 

“This,” Richie said. “ Us ,” Richie said. Eddie felt like he was melting. Richie’s voice lowered to a whisper. “You. Me.” He leaned closer still, so close his lips grazed Eddie’s ear. The brunet shivered. “Boyfriends,” Richie finished. He may have been an idiot, but _God_ , he sure knew how to impress a boy. 

Eddie felt a shock run down his spine. Electricity sparked under the surface when Richie squeezed his hand. His voice was caught in his throat for a solid five or ten seconds. He nodded hurriedly, his eyes finding Richie’s again. “Yeah,” he finally shoved out. He knew Richie well enough to know that this was his way of asking. Luckily, Eddie’s way of  _ answering _ was straightforward. “Yes, Richie.”

The other boy smiled. Leaned forward. Eddie proceeded to have the best night he had ever had. He’d never kissed anyone that much in his _life_. When they snuck back to Richie’s place, where they would crash until morning, Eddie found his brain whirring. As he fell asleep, tucked close against Richie’s chest, he breathed in the scent and told himself to remember this night forever. He asked himself why Richie was so special  _ now _ , why they had only just started dating at age seventeen and not earlier.

The truth was, Eddie had loved this boy since they were twelve years old. He had loved the Hawaiian shirts, he had loved the thick glasses, he’d loved the little quips, and all the annoying things Richie did to get his attention, just like he loved the rings and ripped jeans and sneaky smiles of the present. And now that he could actually face it... He decided he was okay with that. He was more than okay with that.


	3. THREE — Tokens / Deadlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has these nights often. So does Eddie. They work through it together.

He was paralyzed, floating mid air. He couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. There was everything— a flash of heat and then a cold sweat that quickly followed suit— and then there was nothing, darkness enveloping him.

He tried to move anything. His fingers, his feet, his knees. Nothing was working. The laws of physics had been discarded, and here he floated. Because he would float, too, just like the rest of them. They’d all float. They were going to die down here, he knew they would. They were too old for this. Too many years had passed. It was starving, and Richie... Richie was the perfect meal. 

A soft orange glow filled the clearing. It soon developed and escalated until it wasn’t quite so soft anymore. It was coming closer, and through muddled thoughts and dampened panic, he tried to scramble back, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make himself move. The light was brilliant, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His whole body felt lighter than a feather, even though by the way his limbs were hanging under him, it was clear he wasn’t. He could feel the telltale signs of blood trickling from his nose. 

Richie choked on nothing, fighting to inhale. He fought and he fought until his mind was nothing more than static. All sentience gone, Richie hung there in the air, jaw dropped almost comically. How ironic that in the most dangerous moment of his life he looked like a character that had walked straight out of a comic book. All thought was abandoned; he no longer needed to think for himself. Not where he was going, anyway. Everything faded to bright white light, his ears ringing.

And then he was falling for real, hitting the ground hard. A groan escaped his chapped lips.  _That’s gonna hurt worse than the time I slept funny and had a crick in my neck for two weeks._ He inhaled sharply without really meaning to, relief flooding his poor oxygen-deprived lungs. The creature that had had it in its grasp only a few seconds earlier roared and writhed, stumbling backwards. Each step it took shook the cavernous hellhole of an enclosure they were trapped in. “Holy shit!” he heard someone exclaim. No, not someone— Eddie. It was Eddie.  _ Oh, God. Eddie. _

Richie was still dazed, his thoughts all bleeding into one another.  _ Find Eddie _ _,_ part of his brain whispered. Several more thoughts followed after. They slowly became more and more coherent.  _ Where the fuck did Bev go? Is that thing dead? Are we safe yet? Holy shit, I almost died _ _._ Still, though, his vision was blurry and his breathing was unsteady. His name echoed in the distance.

“Rich! Augh, Rich!” Richie’s face contorted, twisting slightly. “Hey, Rich! Wake up!” With a jolt, Richie’s eyes pulled themselves open all the way. There Eddie was, kneeling above him and grinning like a madman. “Yeah, yeah! There he is, buddy! Hey, Richie, listen,” said Eddie excitedly, “I think I got him, man.”  _ Did we win? Did you get him, Eds?  _ His mouth wouldn’t move yet, though, so he let Eddie do the talking. “I think I killed it!” Eddie exclaimed. “I did! I think I killed it for r—”

A claw ran him through the chest. 

Richie could only make a horrified noise of shock. Beverly’s scream echoed in his ears. As Eddie was lifted into the air, whimpering his name, Richie tried to reach out, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. 

“Eddie,” he whispered. And again, he said the name of the love of his life. “Eddie. Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” he repeated, his body still too wobbly, like gelatin, to move. “Eddie,” he cried. 

_ No. This isn’t how it happened. He didn’t die. He didn’t. Eddie is here. Eddie’s okay.  _

_ Eddie. _

_ Eddie.  _

_ E— _

“—ddie!” His eyes shot open, and he launched himself up and gasped for breath, screaming Eddie’s name one last time into the dark room. His throat was raw and scratchy, a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead, and his fingers were gripping the blanket over him hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

Undoubtedly, the most important detail, however, was the hushed, worried voice that came from his side, and the soft, cold hands that took his upper arm gently. “Richie,” said the voice, and the hands that came with it shook him back and forth carefully. “Rich. Hey, it’s okay. I’m right—”

Richie didn’t give him the chance to finish, pulling him forward and into a protective bear hug. He didn’t need his glasses to recognize Eddie Kaspbrak. At first, Eddie squirmed and wriggled, clearly uncomfortable, but just this once, Richie was prioritizing his own sanity over anything else. Besides, Eddie got used to it soon, anyway, sinking into Richie’s lap. Richie slumped forward, burying his face in Eddie’s left shoulder. The smaller man’s head slowly lowered, in turn resting against Richie’s shoulder. They stayed like that for what had to be at least ten minutes— or until Richie’s arms stopped quaking and he could lift his head again. 

He took a breath, gripping onto Eddie’s sleeve to ground himself.  _ He’s here, he’s okay, he’s alive, _ he chanted to himself, though he still felt nauseous thinking about how close of a call it had been. But Richie had never stopped fighting, even when the place had begun to collapse. They’d tried to drag him out, but he wouldn’t listen (did he ever?). He refused vehemently, and consequently, Eddie Kaspbrak lived to see another day. 

“Bad dream?” that same Eddie Kaspbrak asked quietly, still perched comfortably atop Richie’s lap. They shared a bed now that the divorce was finalized. “You were calling my name.” 

The comedian took an unsteady breath in. “I’ll give you three guesses,” he tried to joke, but his voice broke.

“Richie,” was all Eddie said; his sympathetic tone was enough to bring the taller man near tears again. “Richie, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Eddie insisted gently, his hands coming up to frame Richie’s cheeks. “I’m here. I promise I’m here and I’m staying.” 

“I’m sorry—”

“No. Don’t you dare.” Eddie set his finger against Richie’s lips. “It wasn’t your fault. It will  never be your fault.” 

Richie wiped his eyes, but he never took his hands off of Eddie for long. He needed to know he was there, hold the evidence of the living man in his hands to make sure it wouldn’t slip away like sand between his fingers. “For waking you up,” he finished, voice hoarse. From screaming, he assumed. “We have a lot of paperwork for—”

“We’ll focus on the work for tomorrow when tomorrow actually gets here,” Eddie interrupted. “Do you need an Advil?”

Richie shook his head. “Just you.” So Eddie stayed, like he always did, and Richie prayed his thanks to whatever was beyond earth. They’d been to hell and back, but Richie still had the love of his life, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to cling furiously to him. 


	4. FOUR — AU / Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a great day for spilling coffee and an even better day for skipping class. (Some quick background to set the scene for the alternate universe: Richie and Eddie have never met, and Pennywise simply doesn’t exist.)

Richie was  _ so  _ fucking stupid. He was an idiot. He was convinced that he’d lost all his brain cells at the end of fourth grade (the day he’d bumped his head against the brick wall on the outside of his dirty elementary school just a  _ little _ too hard during kickball and given himself a concussion). 

“Uh,” he said to the short boy that was standing in front of him. The short boy that he’d just run into and then proceeded to make angry. This was the reason he was so convinced he was stupid: he’d just walked right into a younger guy; the kid looked like he could be in his late years of high school. “My bad, kid,” he said dumbly.

The disgruntled boy crossed his arms, his irritation showing clearer on his face when his scowl deepened. “I’m not a kid, dude.” 

Richie tilted his head forward. “What do you...?”

“I’m a sophomore in  _ college _ . Like you. I’m getting a  _ degree _ , dude,” he snapped. “I’m literally _in_ your photography class. Which we’re both late to now. Thanks to  _ you _ .” The not-kid gestured to his (white) shirt, which was covered in the sad remains of Richie’s vanilla Frappuccino, a product Starbucks had only been carrying for a year now, but one that Richie was obsessed with. 

_ Oh, shit _ _._ This “kid” was in his second year of college, just like Richie. Conveniently, he was also in the photography class Richie had been desperately attempting to be on time for. Evidently, he’d failed long before he’d thought. Richie felt his face heat up. “Uhh,” he said again.

“Are you gonna apologize or what?” 

Richie cleared his throat.  _ What the fuck is wrong with me? _ “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, man,” he stuttered out. “Uh, do you need a... You need an extra shirt, or?” Richie shifted his backpack up on his shoulder as if to say, ‘ _ I can help _ .’ Why was he being such a damn _klutz_ today? Earlier he’d left his backpack open and dropped a bunch of stuff on his way out the door. As he crossed campus, he’d tripped twice over tree roots. And now this! It was like he’d been fucking _cursed_ or something. 

“First of all, your shirt would probably be three sizes too big on me, so no,” the boy huffed. Richie could think of several sexual innuendos he could make but decided not to make _any_ of them for fear of being killed by the furious short guy. “And secondly, I don’t want to be any later to class than I have to.”

Richie checked his watch. Shrugged. “It’s already been ten minutes. We might as well just skip it now.”

“ _ Skip _ it?!” exclaimed the boy. “Are you  _ crazy _ _?_ I have to get a good grade in this class or my mom’s gonna—” He stopped himself, cheeks slowly turning pink. “I mean, ah.” 

Richie couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Dude,” he said, “your mom still checks your grades?” Eddie was silent. “Jesus, it’s _1996_ already! Live a little!” 

“Shut the fuck up. Yes, my mom checks my grades.”

“Just like she checks my—” Before Richie could finish the dirty joke, a car honked at them, signaling them to get out of the damn crosswalk already. Richie grabbed the shorter guy’s sleeve and hustled to the other side. 

“Let me go, asshole.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” Richie removed his hand, noting how uncomfortable the other seemed still soaked in coffee. “Really, though, it’s fine,” he insisted. “We can skip.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have a friend in that class, too. Curly haired bird watching guy that always sits in the front row, his name’s Staniel. He’ll fill us in if we miss anything.”

“Oh my god.” The short boy laughed once. Richie tilted his head and waited for an explanation, which, thankfully, came soon. “My friend has a huge crush on that guy.”

“Really? Convenient. It must be fate tying the four of us together.” Richie stuck his hand out. “The name’s Richie Tozier.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, but reluctantly took Richie’s hand, giving it a firm shake. Richie’s skin tingled. “Eddie Kaspbrak. And I don’t believe in fate.” 

“You must be fun at parties, Eds,” Richie said through a grin.  _ There _ was his usual spunk. Where had it been earlier when he was dumping sugary coffee all over a cute guy? 

“Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, pressing his lips into a firm line, but he eventually sighed. “Are you gonna give me a shirt or not?” he asked hesitantly. 

Richie was ecstatic. On the outside, he played it cool. “Depends. Are you gonna take yours off?” He waggled his eyebrows, and Eddie scoffed.  _ Okay, maybe not so cool.  _

“Beep beep, asshole.”

“What’s that mean?” Richie asked bewilderedly, feeling stupid for being lost. What reference was he missing? 

“Earlier, when you went to make a dirty joke, a car interrupted you,” Eddie said quietly, seeming embarrassed that he had to explain. “It beeped.” Richie was still a little confused. Eddie, seemingly aware of this, finished with one other word. “Twice.” 

Richie finally understood, and a laugh escaped his chapped lips. “Oh my god, you genius.” He shoved Eddie in the shoulder, and the shorter boy grunted in surprise.  _ Oops _ . Usually Richie wouldn’t lay hands on people he didn’t know well. Or just people that weren’t Bev and Stan. He didn’t really know what was so different about this new guy. He was about to apologize, but Eddie was faster, jabbing an elbow into his side. 

“So basically, beep beep means shut the fuck up.” 

Richie laughed, making some dumb comment about manners, and they began to walk back to the bathrooms. It continued on like that; Richie teased Eddie for locking himself all the way in a stall just to change his shirt, and Eddie made fun of Richie for, well, spilling his morning coffee everywhere. 

Richie wasn’t really sure why everything felt so smooth and natural with this new guy, but he made sure to rant to Stan and Bev about Eddie Kaspbrak. They, of course, made fun of him, even though they watched him walk down the aisle in a tuxedo to see that very same Eddie Kaspbrak six years later.


	5. FIVE — Trashmouth Show / Prom Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s having a not-so-great night. Richie makes it his job to change that.

Eddie glanced down at his wrist one more time just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He was right, though; his watch told him it had been seventeen and a half minutes since the set time he and his prom date had agreed to meet at. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly leaning against the wall. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, and he was sure it was wrinkling his suit, but he couldn’t care less anymore. 

His prom date wasn’t  exactly who he wanted to be going with... Okay, in all honesty, he barely even knew her name. He’d asked her as a last ditch effort after the person he was  _ actually  _ interested in said they weren’t going. Eddie didn’t _dislike_ girls, that wasn’t it. It was just that he had no feelings for this one in particular. But he’d heard that she  kind of  liked him, and prom was supposed to be a big deal, which meant he needed a date. So she was good enough, right?

Wrong. Eddie squared his shoulders again, trying to regain confidence, but as he watched more and more people walk past him and into the building, the influx slowing down as the event progressed, he began to fear his date would not arrive. He glanced down at the little wrist corsage made up of brilliant yellow and red flowers, twirling it between his hands.  _ Looks like I won’t be giving this stupid thing out tonight.  _

Eddie sighed, checking his watch one last time. Twenty minutes. That was where he drew the line. She wasn’t going to show and that was that. He glanced to the door and reluctantly took a few steps forward. What was he supposed to do now? Ben and Beverly had gone together, so he couldn’t interrupt that. Mike wasn’t coming, of course, since he was homeschooled. Stan and Bill had disappeared off to  _ somewhere _ right before the event. And Richie... well. 

Richie wasn’t coming. 

Eddie had  tried to reason with him. _ ‘Usually it’s me doing the sitting out!’  _ he had pointed out. _‘I’m going so you should go.’ ‘Let’s just go and hang out.’ ‘You don’t have to bring a date.’_ He’d worn out all his options. Richie wouldn’t budge. 

Eddie sucked in a breath.  _ This is fucking pointless.  _ He turned back around _. _ _I’m not going in that stupid ass school, and especially not alone_.  He began to storm back to his car, angrily chucking the corsage off to his right and not really bothering to check where it had gone. 

“Ooh, ouch! Damn, you’ve got a good arm on ya, Spaghetti.” Richie’s voice startled him almost completely out of his fury for a second, and Eddie jumped, whirling around. 

“Jesus Christ!” He ogled the taller boy, clad in nothing but a button down shirt and wrinkly jeans.  _ Jesus Christ, what a fucking idiot. Since when was this asshole even coming? _

“Watch where you’re throwin’ things there, Eds,” the taller boy joked with a wink. 

Eddie was in no mood for jesting. “Then don’t be in my throwing area,” he snapped back. 

Richie took a few steps closer. “Aww, whats wrong? Someone break your favorite blue crayon at coloring time?” he teased, even though his hand was clearly coming up to rest on him as comfort. 

Eddie’s shoulder jerked back before Richie’s hand could make its landing. That would only make things worse than they already were— which he could only imagine would end in a screaming match. “What are you even  doing here?” he griped, doing his best to control his temper. Normally, in a situation like this, he’d be thrilled to see someone else he actually recognized. After all, that would mean he didn’t have to suffer through the night in silent embarrassment. Because it was Richie, though, now he was just pissed. It was _Richie’s_ fault he’d been stood up in the first place, because he had insisted on not coming, which made Eddie ask a girl he barely knew! “You said you weren’t gonna be here tonight.” 

Richie shrugged. “Changed my mind.” His brow cinched a tad bit more. “Um... where’s your gal pal, Eds?” His eyes traveled down to the sidewalk, where the brilliantly-colored corsage that had bounced off his shoulder was still laying. It rocked back and forth in the breeze. Eddie didn’t bother with the corsage, instead looking up to find that Richie’s hair was doing the same thing because of the wind. Richie soon came at him with another stupid question, however: “Isn’t that supposed to go on your girlfriend’s wrist and not, you know... the ground?”

“She’s not my fucking  girlfriend , Rich, you dipshit,” Eddie finally hissed. “I don’t even remember her  _ name _ .” 

“I think it was, like, Miranda. Or maybe Michelle. Did, uh... Did something happen, or...?” Even though Richie’s comment was technically helpful, Eddie still felt infuriated by his voice alone.  _ Of course something happened. Are you fucking stupid? _ He felt bad for thinking it when Richie added, “You‘re upset, Spaghetti, baby, what’s wrong?” But the back of his furious mind couldn’t help adding,  _ Yeah, no shit I‘m upset. _ Eddie still didn’t answer, trying to decide if he should tell the truth or not. On one hand, it made him look like a fucking  _ loser _ . But on the other... he  _ was _ a Loser, and this was Richie, and his best friend deserved to know. Still conflicted, he ran a hand through his hair. Richie mistook indecision for hesitance and asked again. “Eds? Did something happen?”

Eddie finally blew up, giving in and starting to pace. “No!” He threw his hands out in front of him. “That’s the thing, Rich! Nothing happened! Absolutely fucking  _ nothing _ . That’s the whole  _ point _ .” He felt his eyes brimming with tears, but he worked through it. “I got stood up, okay? She— she didn’t even show up. So yeah, I’m a pretty happy fucking camper right now.” Eddie took a shaking breath. “That’s not even the worst part. Do you know how fucking  _ humiliating _ it is to be stood up by a girl you  _ barely know? _ Especially when I wanted to be going with someone fucking else, anyway,” Eddie let slip as he paced angrily. “I fucking hate this hellhole town. Jesus, just ship me off to college already, why don’t you?”

“Who?” asked Richie, and if Eddie didn’t love him with every fiber of his being, he would’ve punched him in the jaw for asking another  _ goddamn question.  _

“What the fuck do you mean,  _ who _ —”

“Who did you  _ want  _ to take?” Richie asked. 

Eddie paused, blood running cold. There was really no good way of answering this question— unless, of course, he wanted to expose himself. Which he didn’t. Not yet, exactly. Naturally, he opted to fight fire with fire, lips turning down at the corners again. “Why do  _you_ need to know?” He didn’t anticipate Richie to have an easy way around this one. 

However, he was wrong. It was like Richie always knew exactly how to play it cool— by Eddie’s standards, anyway, which were, admittedly, pretty damn high. “Worried about my bestest friend in the whole wide world, that’s all,” Richie teased. “So? ¿Que pasó, cariño?”  _What happened, honey?_ Eddie felt his insides turn to jelly for a few seconds.  _ God, I like you so fucking much.  _

“Well, I asked them to go,” Eddie admitted, a muscle in his jaw ticking when he clenched it in anger. 

Richie seemed delighted at this new piece of information. “And? Why didn’t you take them?” he replied challengingly.  _ Don’t you dare turn this into a fucking game, Tozier.  _

“They said no. I even gave them reasons. I said—” He stopped, biting his lip. Richie would know if Eddie quoted exactly what he’d said when Richie decided not to go. Richie would  _ know _ if Eddie gave out the exact reasons he’d used as his argument. 

That was exactly why he did it. “So I told them that it was usually  _ me _ doing the sitting out. I told them they should go because  _ I _ was going and then neither of us would have to be alone. I told them we should go just to hang out. I told them they didn’t even _have_ to bring a  date . We could just go as  friends . And you know what?” Eddie asked, feeling dangerously close to tears. “Do you know fucking what, Rich?” Richie was quiet as a mouse, so Eddie delivered the final blow. “They  _ still _ said fucking no.” After that, he stopped. He stood. And he waited. 

Unfortunately, the waiting was in vain, for it was Richie’s turn to freeze up. He would normally be dissing this mystery person Eddie had asked, cracking jokes, or just generally doing anything in his power to cheer Eddie up, but right now, all Eddie was getting was radio silence. It seemed Richie had figured out Eddie’s passive aggressive jabs. Along with that, Eddie reasoned, Richie was probably trying to figure out if Eddie liked him.  _ I do. I fucking do. But you don’t fucking like me back.  _ As Eddie stared at the sidewalk, frustration a hot blanket over his shoulders, Richie remained silent still. 

Soon, it became unbearable, and Eddie lifted his head from where he’d been staring at the concrete. “Nice talk,” he spat out bitterly, turning on his heel. His plan? He wasn’t quite sure yet. But he knew he could probably find a good party somewhere and get wasted to hell and back. He’d never done  that before, but why not start now? And while he was ahead, he could just keep going. Maybe he would get wasted enough to fuck someone. Maybe he’d break out of that little  mama’s boy shell he’d been raised in. Maybe he’d commit vandalism. Or property damage. Or arson. Senior Prom could be the marker of the beginning of his wild, ruthless,  _ unforgivable _ college days. 

(Realistically, Eddie knew he would do none of this, but a boy could dream.)

He was already halfway to his (mom’s) car when a hand caught his wrist. At first, he freaked out a little— childhood trauma featuring a kid-eating clown would do that do a guy. When he turned around and came face to face with Richie, he wanted to scream, and not out of fear. He was _so_ damn  frustrated . 

But Richie wasn’t fucking around anymore. His hand slid and turned and suddenly it was holding Eddie’s, and then they were walking, Richie pulling him along behind him. The shorter boy felt his heart rate multiply by a thousand.  _ Oh god, oh god, oh my god.  _ He trusted Richie— he always would. It wasn’t fear that was making his pulse spike. No, it was the fact that Richie was pulling him behind the school, leaving the two of them alone and out of sight, and the tension was only rising and rising. 

Finally, they stopped, and Richie whirled back around, his fingers still intertwined with Eddie’s. He stopped right in front of the shorter boy, their noses only a few inches apart. “You know that person that you asked to come to prom with you?” Richie asked, his determined eyes dead set on Eddie’s. It was a little uncomfortable but also insanely hot, and Richie’s gaze was so magnetic that he couldn’t look away. 

“Y-Yeah?” 

“They were a fucking idiot.” Richie leaned forward and closed the gap. Alarm bells rang in Eddie’s head:  _ HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KISS SOMEONE, OH MY GOD, I’M GONNA DIE, I’M GONNA HAVE A FUCKING ASTHMA ATTACK, wait, I don’t have fucking asthma, that was my mom’s propaganda,  ** why am I thinking about my mom while I’m kissing the boy of my dreams? ** _

It died down a second later, and soon, much to his surprise, Eddie didn’t even  _ have _ to think. His hands came up boldly so he could lace his fingers behind Richie’s neck, and they soon moved up even further as his fingers threaded through Richie’s thick, messy curls. The taller boy moved his hands, too; one lowered to Eddie’s waist, and one slipped behind his head to protect it from his next maneuver, which turned out to be quickly turning them around and walking Eddie forcefully into the brick wall. 

Eddie let out an audible gasp, and Richie pulled back  _ immediately _ . “What’s wrong?” the taller boy asked frantically. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you, baby?”

Breathless, Eddie shook his head, butterflies racing through his stomach at the pet name. “No. No, keep going, Richie,” he begged. Finally, he got to kiss the guy he’d been in love with for a decade. Finally, he got to run his fingers through his hair in more than just a platonic way. Finally, he got to be pressed up between Richie and the wall, something he’d only seen in wet dreams since the age of sixteen. And now Richie was gonna _stop?_ _Hell no._

“Are you sure?” 

Eddie was beyond sure. His hand slid to rest on the side of Richie’s face and his eyes locked firmly with the other’s. “ _Keep going_ , Chee.” So Richie did. 

Ironically, they skipped prom that night. 


	6. SIX — Hammock / Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wishes he could still look at Richie the same way he used to. Conveniently, Richie wishes the same thing. Their paths collide dramatically right after Spanish class.

_ “Richie, stop  _ touching  _ me so damn much.” _

_ “You’re the one who got in even though it’s literally  _ my turn.”

_ “You were taking too long in the hammock!”  _

_ “You say that every time!” _

_ “Fuck you.” _

_ “Oh, shut up. You love me.” _

_ “I don’t!” _

_ “You  do . We’re  _ family _ , Eds.”  _

_ “...You promise?” _

_ “Of course.” _

—

Eddie sighed, tapping his pencil over and over against his notebook. The eraser on the end bounced every time it hit one of the thin blue lines that ran across the paper. He rested his head in his hand, eyes lifting up to the clock on the wall. Five more minutes. Five more long, excruciating, _agonizing_ minutes. 

He let his eyes fall on the boy they were always magnetized to. Curly dark hair. Black-rimmed glasses with lenses thicker than Eddie had ever seen on any other pair. Dark clothes. Ripped jeans. 

Richie Tozier had always been a sight to behold. The only difference between freshman year and senior year was The Utter and Ultimate Betrayal. That’s what Eddie liked to call it, anyway. The fact of the matter was: Richie had split off from the Losers in their third year of high school, just last year. 

He’d started growing more and more different, distancing himself and doing drugs and smoking and drinking. He got mean, and not just in the joking way. No, Richie became a _dick_. The jokes faded into solemnity and so did the awfully bright shirts Eddie had loved so much. The weirdest part of it all was it was primarily Eddie he was an asshole to. It was like he was _trying_ to shut him out— and it worked. He’d even crashed Eddie’s brand spanking new car and hadn’t even  apologized. Finally, after Richie sold them out to Bowers (who, as anticipated, didn’t go to college, instead sticking around in Derry to get some lame ass job and still chase after losers to feel better about himself) for cigarettes, the Losers decided they’d had enough. Richie had totally and completely changed, and they had to accept that he wasn’t ever going to be the same kid he used to be again.

Eddie had cried for hours. He’d laid in bed awake for several nights, unable to sleep because all he could imagine was the stupid hammock in the clubhouse.  _ Richie and him _ in the stupid hammock in the clubhouse. He’d promised so many times never to leave Eddie, and here he was, abandoning him. And for what? Fucking substance abuse?  _Unbelievable_.  But Eddie couldn’t help the way he missed his ex best friend, which was why, nine times out of ten, he ended up staring at the back of Richie’s head and zoning out every Spanish class. This was the only class he had a C in. Lately, his mother had been getting on his ass about it often.

With another frustrated sigh, Eddie drew a dark line through the wrong answer he’d been about to erase. He ripped the paper, and he gritted his teeth.  _ Of fucking course. Jesus Christ. _ Now all he could do was stare at the back of Richie, who was, by some miracle, in Spanish 4 with him, as was mentioned earlier. Eddie tore the page out of his notebook, crumpled it up, and tossed it across the room at the trash can, too lazy to get up. His Spanish teacher raised her eyebrow, giving him a warning look, and he lowered his head after an apologetic glance.  _ Sorry, Señora Martin.  _ It was impossible for him to focus. 

Finally, the bell rang. He slammed his notebook closed and stuffed both it and his vocabulary sheet back into his bag, shooting up and out of his seat in a heartbeat. The pill bottle in the front pocket (he still carried his medicine around, except now it was just in his book bag) rattled because of how quickly he yanked his backpack up. He tried to ignore Richie as the taller male stood up and hefted his own bag over his shoulder. For once, Eddie couldn’t smell weed on him. Curiously, he allowed himself to peek. Clean shaven, Eddie noticed. His clothes were less rumpled. His hair was... brushed. But bags were under his eyes, and he moved slower than normal. Eddie had been noticing this more and more these days. Richie was cleaning up, looking a lot nicer.  _ Well, good for him, _ Eddie thought bitterly, but he couldn’t help continuing to look. Yes, Richie was looking better, but he also looked _so_ damn tired.  _ Withdrawals? _ Eddie had no idea. He was painfully unaware of whatever was going on in Richie’s life. He had no way to tell. 

He missed him. God, how he  _ missed _ him. 

Richie caught him looking, his dark, brooding eyes locking with Eddie’s.  _Fuck!_ Immediately, Eddie turned his head, cheeks flaming, and forced himself to walk faster, trying in vain to get around the unbearably slow students and out of the damn room already. One of his biggest rules was  _ no eye contact.  _ It had been like that for months. Why had Eddie fucked that up _now?_ It was only the seventh week of senior year. He couldn’t go around fucking things up  now , of all times. 

_Whatever_.  Spanish was the only class Eddie had with Richie. Now that  _ that _ embarrassment was over, he could just go on with his day and forget all about—

“Eddie.”

The voice from behind him was low and gruff, and Eddie barely recognized it— or, at least, he wanted to make himself think that. In reality, he knew exactly who it was. Of course he did. He’d grown up listening to that voice grow and develop. 

Eddie picked up the pace. 

The footsteps behind him sped up, too. He was out of luck. Feeling sick to his stomach, Eddie dodged and weaved around the intolerably slow students. When he came to a spot where congregating groups spanned across the whole hallway, forming an impasse, he began to panic, his heart in his throat. _What the fuck is everyone just standing around for?_ For a few seconds, he tried desperately to get around the mob, but it was pointless. He was going to have to go back the way he’d come from. 

He turned around with his head down, took two long strides forward, and collided hard with Richie. Eddie stumbled over one of Richie’s feet, pitching forward. A strong arm shot out and wrapped around Eddie’s torso, the other one steadying him by his hip. Richie carefully tilted him back so he could stand. As soon as Eddie got his feet back under him, he tried to pull back, his whole face red. Richie had other plans. He held on to his arm, and Eddie was forced to look up at him. Anxiety swirled in the pit of his stomach. _No way. We are_ not _fucking doing this right now._ “Let—” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Let me go.” 

“We need to talk, Eddie.” Richie’s eyes begged for a chance. Eddie steeled himself like he always did when he was preparing to get hurt again.  _ He’s an asshole. Don’t trust him. Don’t talk to him.  _

“No,” Eddie said stubbornly. He’d always been incredibly stubborn. “There’s nothing to talk about.” However, Richie wasn’t letting him go that easily. In fact, Richie was doing quite the opposite, pulling him toward the janitor’s closet. Richie was yanking down on the chain that hung down from the ceiling, causing soft yellow light to flood the room. Richie was pulling Eddie gently inside. Throughout it all, Eddie sort of forgot how to function. He let it all happen passively, as if he was just a spectator behind a TV screen watching the scene play out. 

Only when Richie shut the door and leaned against it did Eddie finally come to life. “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded quietly. “I’m going to be _late_ , asshole.” He thought back to when he used to call Richie _‘asshole’_ affectionately, and his heart hurt. 

“I told you. We need to talk.” Richie ran a hand through his hair. “There’s a lot I need to say to you.”

“Well, fucking hurry up, then,” Eddie snapped, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Richie hesitated, and it only fueled Eddie’s rage. “I swear to god, if I get a fucking _tardy_ because of this—”

“Christ, Eds, you’re really not making this easy for me,” Richie said with a jittery laugh. 

“Don’t call me fucking _Eds_ ,” said Eddie harshly. Nobody called him Eds anymore now that Richie wasn’t around to do it against his wishes. “Why should I make it easy on you, huh? You’re a fucking _dick_ , Richie. You fucked us all over.” Richie’s gaze slid guiltily to the side.  _ Good _ . Avoiding eye contact helped Eddie stay mean.

“I know,” said Richie, very quietly, and,  ugh , scratch that— nothing was making Eddie feel  any better about this. “I’m really sorry,” Richie mumbled. That only made the guilt stronger. Eddie was so tempted to fall into Richie’s arms, let him console him and smooth his hair down and fuss over him as much as he wanted. 

But he _had_ to stay strong. He had to remember what Richie had done for this to happen in the first place. “You’re not sorry. You probably want money for _drugs_ or something,” Eddie bit. It was clear by the way Richie cringed that the jab had landed in a place that hurt. “Well, I’ll tell you a secret, Tozier. You’re not getting  _ shit _ .” 

Richie drew in a deep breath, his eyes meeting Eddie’s. “I’m not here for money. I’m, ah. I don’t... I’m not... I don’t do drugs anymore, Eddie,” Richie breathed out. 

_ So it  _ is _ withdrawals.  _ Eddie crossed his arms. “G-Good for you, then,” he forced out, as much as he wanted to throw his arms around Richie and tell him how damn proud he was. “Your point is?” It was _so_ fucking hard not to give in. 

“My point is that I don’t want money. I just want—” Richie paused, presumably to organize his thoughts. Eddie heard the bell ring faintly from the hallway.  _There goes getting to class on time_.  If he were to be honest, though, he was now much more invested in this conversation than he was in being on time. Finally, after a painful silence, Richie continued. “I just want you.”  _ Me?!  _ Eddie’s eyes widened, his pulse spiking. “I mean—” Richie cleared his throat, cheeks turning a little pink. “You  guys . The _Losers_. I...” He put his trembling hands out in front of him, fingers splayed and rings glinting even in the dim light. Eddie’s whole body ached to hold them. “I miss my family,” said Richie shakily.

Eddie bit his lip. “I miss you, too,” he said softly, before he could even stop himself. “All the time.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair, hefting his bag further up onto his shoulder. “For god’s sake, Richie, I stare at the back of your fucking head every day and I wish you wouldn’t have crashed my damn car.” Surprising himself, Eddie laughed softly, shaking his head. 

Richie clearly didn’t see the humor in the situation. “I’m really sorry,” he said, voice reduced to a whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry, Eds.” 

Eddie took a deep breath, for once forgetting not to warn Richie to avoid that nickname. It was actually that very name— that small little pathetic _‘Eds’_ that Richie uttered— that filled Eddie with so much regret.   


All at once, the temptation overcame him, and Eddie stuck his hand out while his courage was still high. “Rich,” Eddie murmured bravely, “you’re forgiven. By me, at least.”

Richie turned his hopeful gaze onto Eddie, tentatively taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. “You... mean it?” he asked, and even though Richie was so tall and  edgy now, Eddie could see the echoes of Richie’s old self reflected in his dark eyes. 

“Of course. I mean, everyone else might need some time. Stan especially, I think. But... I’ve spent enough time staring at the back of your head and not your stupid face.” He squeezed Richie’s hand, the corners of his lips turning up. “After all, we... we’re family. Right?”

Richie tilted his head. “You know, I was kind of hoping you’d grow out of that phrase.”

Startled out of the sweet moment, Eddie lost his smile, frowning slightly. “What do you mean, Rich?”

“Well, it’s just, like...” Richie rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly, Eddie’s face was feeling hot again. His hand tingled where it still held Richie’s, and he realized they’d been like that for several moments. 

He pulled back, wishing he was wearing rings that he could twist, like Richie did when he had nothing else to do with his hands. “Spit it out, Trashmouth,” he urged softly. 

Richie averted his gaze. “You’re real cute, Spaghetti,” he said, falling back into his old nicknames already. “If... you catch my drift.” 

_ Holy shit.  _

Richie had just exposed himself to Eddie. After months of not talking, months of avoiding each other’s eyes, months of pain and yearning... Eddie could hardly believe that Richie still felt this way about him. And, more importantly—

Eddie still felt that way about Richie, too. 

The young brunet tried to pretend like he wasn’t redder than a tomato. He fidgeted with his hands, but he had to admit, his heart was soaring. Of course, he’d need time to reflect. Time to fall back into the familiar pattern that was _Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier._ But... he wanted to. He _wanted_ to. “I’ll think about it,” said Eddie, boldly. “You know. If you’re... okay with waiting.”

Richie cracked a grin, the exact one that Eddie missed so bad. The one he’d been needing to see. “I’ll always be willing to wait for you, my love.”

Eddie looked into his eyes and knew he meant it. 


	7. SEVEN — 27 Years Later / Losers Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only one thing Eddie loves more than waking up to peace and quiet, and that thing is Richie.

Soft rays of light cascaded into the room through the open window. From outside, a blue jay sang a looping melody. Dark clouds rolled in from the east, but it was nothing to be worried about; the new house was more stable. More sturdy. Mostly, it felt more like a home than anywhere he’d ever lived before. 

Quite possibly for the first time in his life, Eddie awoke to tranquility. Peace whispered in his ear and hope rested its head on his shoulder. He felt lighter than ever. The smell of brewing coffee and something sweet wafted through the halls, snaking under the crack at the bottom of the door and draping over Eddie’s shoulders like an old, familiar blanket. The space was made more homely by the bubbling filter in the empty tank across the room. They planned to fill it with lively fish soon. 

They. Eddie smiled faintly, rolling over onto his side and basking in the thought. They. Them. Together.

He often laid quietly like this and allowed himself to immerse in the memories he’d never even thought he’d had before Mike Hanlon’s phone call. As it turned out, suddenly unlocking a crystal clear view of one’s childhood, a view that had been blurry for a good portion of one’s life, was fascinating. In the hospital, during the rare times when Richie had not been glued to his side, he had to lay on his side and think about the Losers Club. It was quite refreshing, if he was honest, to finally know why he’d been missing so much information. Why his life felt like it lacked something necessary. 

Naturally, Eddie had thought memories worked that way for everyone. He had wrongly assumed that it was normal to be missing a whole chunk of memories and experiences. Of course, that was when he couldn’t remember anything earlier than his first year of college, when he had been so scared of being deemed irregular, so scared of being  _ sick _ , that he had ignored the missing memories altogether. He didn’t want to have another thing _wrong_ with him. He didn’t want to have Myra begging him to go to the doctor again in the same manner Sonia had always pressured him into taking sugar pills and using inhalers that did nothing.

Richie had been right. He really  _ had _ married his mother, hadn’t he? Just for some sense of safety. Some sense of familiarity. It was sick that he’d had to resort to something like his manipulative mother for comfort instead of, well... who he should’ve turned to instead. Who he should’ve  remembered . 

The corners of Eddie’s lips turned up again. If he listened closely, he could hear someone milling about a few rooms over, trying to move as quietly as possible. There were car horns in the distance and shouting pedestrians on the street outside, but he knew it wasn’t as bad as it would’ve been if they’d moved into an apartment in the city. Los Angeles tended to be loud. The aforementioned someone had known, though, exactly what Eddie would want. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Eddie heard the person swear, and a clattering of dishes sounded. Eddie rolled over further, onto his stomach, and let his face sink into the pillow, smiling harder than was natural. It made his chest a little sore to move so much, but he couldn’t care less; just one day prior, he had finally been flown home (home! Their new home!) from the hospital, wheelchair, mobility aids, scar tissue treatment and all. At this point, Eddie had been through so much physical therapy that he was tired of being so cautious. Even Eddie Kaspbrak got tired of precautionary measures sometimes. 

Eddie turned back over and sat up, pushing the blankets further off of him. He glanced over to his nightstand for the time.  _10:12_ flashed back at him in blocky red numbers. His eyes slid over and locked with the plain, boring old gold band that had resided on his finger for years. Too many years. He wondered why he still even had it. Then again, he’d always been a sentimental sort of guy. 

Even so, Eddie pulled the drawer open and swiped the ring into it, shutting it quickly. He didn’t need to be thinking about the five-year marriage he was currently ruining. He’d only make himself guiltier. The divorce wasn’t fully finalized, but Eddie had made his wishes clear: they were no longer together. Edward and Myra were no longer two names anyone would pair together. 

Which was why Richie Tozier was making him breakfast at ten o’clock in the morning. 

Or at least, he had been. The clattering noises had long since ceased. Eddie couldn’t help feeling a little nervous not being able to see exactly what Richie was doing. There had been two many close calls down under Neibolt for his liking, and while the closest call had been his own near-death experience, it still made him antsy to know that the possibility. _Richie_ could be _in danger. Richie_ could be _in need of help. Richie_ could be _at risk_ , his mind taunted him. Eddie had been a risk analyst, after all. He’d been good at what he’d done, he knew. He’d been a _good_ risk analyst. But it had been bad for him. 

His stomach growled. Speaking of things that were bad for him... he’d barely gotten any real food to eat in weeks. As it turned out, getting an unexpected new orifice in one’s body made it very difficult to eat. Who knew? There had been a lot of problems caused by the incident that had taken place a little over a month ago. Eddie’s digestive system, his circulatory system, his respiratory system, and more— they’d all been thrown askew. He had stuck it out, though. He always had been a coward, but he  _ never _ did things halfway, and there was more business with Richie he needed to take care of and address. He’d be damned if he were to die before sorting things out with his childhood best friend. 

Richie was everything to him. Ever since the day everything came back to him, Eddie had felt drawn to the taller man. And rightly so; they were meant to be together, Eddie was sure of that. There was a special hole in Eddie’s heart that only felt full when Richie was around. 

Richie filled the doorway as well, startling Eddie out of his thoughts with a quiet, “Morning, Eds.” Eddie took a moment to admire Richie and to be thankful for his presence. Then he glanced down at himself, noting that he was, in fact, bare-chested. He reached forward for the blanket again, feeling clumsy as he dragged it up and tucked it under his armpits to hide the gnarly scar that ran across his body. 

“Good morning,” he replied quietly. A smile tugged at his lips, but when he caught a whiff of a distinct fiery scent, his face scrunched up. “Is something burning?”

“Yeah, your breakfast,” Richie laughed, taking a few steps into the room. Eddie let the half-smile take his face again. 

“Seriously?”

“In my defense, I  was trying to do something nice for my favorite idiot. And the coffee made it out alive, it’s almost done.” 

Eddie shook his head. “You’re unbelievable, Rich,” was what he said.  _ Am I really your favorite? _ was what he thought. Only a little while of being reunited and Richie was already calling him his favorite. Eddie didn’t know whether to feel honored or intrusive. 

“Should I turn the lights on?” Richie asked, hand hovering over the switch.

“No.” Eddie glanced over toward the window. “There’s enough light already.” 

“Sure, Spaghetti. Whatever you want.” Richie came a little closer, but he moved slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt Eddie. It was uncharacteristic, and Eddie despised it. He didn’t want Richie walking on eggshells. 

“Whatever I want?”

“Yeah, of course, whatever you...” Richie trailed off, sticking his hands awkwardly in his jacket pockets. “Whatever you want. You’re the brave one, after all. Bravest asshole I ever did meet in my entire life, I reckon,” Richie added on, slipping into one of his voices near the end, a southern accent. Eddie missed Richie’s voices so much he felt he could cry. 

“Come sit down, then.” He shifted to the side slightly, careful not to let the blanket fall. He was conscious of his scar. He didn’t like it, even if he did know that Richie would never judge him. “And see if you can find me a shirt out of there, would you?” he asked, nodding to the suitcase on the floor against the wall. 

“Now why would I do that when I have such a fine shirtless specimen right in front of me to stare at?” Richie teased. He did as was asked of him anyway, crouching to unzip the suitcase. Both of his knees popped, and Eddie was reminded, painfully, of how much time they had lost. How much of their lives they could’ve spent together if they had just gone to the same college. If they had just stuck close by. If they had just held on. “All your shirts are so boring,” said Richie, and Eddie made a note to buy more colorful clothes later. 

Richie stood, turning around with a pale gray shirt. “Here, I— hey. Are you, um...” Richie awkwardly floundered for words when he saw glistening tears on Eddie’s cheeks. He always had been terrible with emotions. Eddie laughed quietly at the thought, sending Richie further into his state of confusion. “Eds?” the comedian asked again, carefully. “Um, is there something I can do? Water? I—”

“Sit down, you dumb fuck,” Eddie let fall from his lips, and Richie didn’t look surprised anymore now that Eddie sounded like he was supposed to. A small boy (now a small man) with honey for eyes and a fiery mouth. 

So Richie did sit, and he handed over the shirt, which Eddie took thankfully. He struggled with it, and eventually gave up, allowing Richie’s warm hands to help guide the fabric over his torso. 

“You’re getting better at that,” said Richie with a bright, encouraging smile. “Soon you’ll be able to jack off all by yourself again!” 

Eddie, face flaming, shoved his shoulder, his tears dry by now. “You’re an asshole,” he said. They both knew he didn’t mean it. When Richie’s hand came closer experimentally, Eddie didn’t stop him. When it ended up resting on top of Eddie’s, he  _ especially _ didn’t stop him. When Richie’s free hand moved for the remote, and he turned on some documentary channel for him that Eddie knew he must’ve hated, he didn’t stop him. And when Eddie’s head lowered, leaning against Richie’s shoulder, _Richie_ didn’t stop  _ him _ , either. Not until his stomach growled again half an hour later, and they remembered the coffee, and the burnt breakfast, and the real things they had to take care of. The tiring fact of the matter was that the world was still turning.

Eddie was pretty sure he could handle anything that came their way, though, now that he had the love of his life back. 


End file.
